


7 Drinks

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: 30 Rock
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Banter, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz at a TJ McGoodtime's is a bad combination, basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Malibu and Pineapple Juice"

 

Grown adults did not act like this. That was one thing Liz knew about her situation: she had willingly devoted her life to a career where nobody behaved like a grown up. Except there was not behaving like a stuffy corporate adult, and then there was having the one stuffy corporate adult in your life oscillating between being the one sensible person and the crazy man who actually took your drunk dials.

Not that Liz had ever purposely drunk-dialed Jack. That had been an accident. He was five on her speed dial, and Liz had meant to hit four and call...who was four on her speed dial? Liz didn't remember. Two and three were Pete and Jenna, one was for her doctor in case of emergency, four was whoever Liz really meant to call, and five was Jack.

God, she had a pathetic social life if her _boss_ was on speed dial.

Anyway, the point was that Liz was somewhat sauced and drunk-dialing because nobody ever did the right thing and took away her phone when they gave her white wine spritzers or Malibu and pineapple juice or amaretto sours. And ol' Jack Donaghy had taken her call.

"Lemon, is that you?" he asked.

"Oh, did I call you?" Liz replied. "That was an accident. You're not number four on my speed-dial. I think it's either my mom or Tracy. I really hope it's neither, though."

Long pause. "Lemon, did someone give you a drink with an umbrella in it?"

Liz stopped twirling the pink umbrella she'd been playing with since the waiter had brought her the fourth Malibu. "No. Absolutely not," she said.

"I'm sure," Jack replied.

"Yeah, you are, because I don't have a pink umbrella on a toothpick. Not me," Liz said. "Okay, I'm gonna go now because you are not who I meant to call."

"Yes, but I'm the only person who has the common sense to take the phone out of your hand when you've been drinking," said Jack. "That means I'm fielding this drunk dialing intervention, Lemon. Where are you?"

"None of your business," said Liz, hotly offended. "I didn't mean to call you!"

"Is it that obnoxious family-friendly bar and restaurant near the GE Building that has the onion rings you like?" Jack asked. Damn him. He always knew! "Are you scaring children?"

"No. Just all the single men," Liz replied, reminding herself to take Jack off her speed dial. "Any parent who brings a kid to TJ McGoodtime's for happy hour is a bad parent anyway."

Jack snorted. "One day, I will teach you why grown adults do not go to TJ McGoodtime's for happy hour," he said dryly.

"And on that day, will I be a man at last?" Liz asked, and then laughed. "I forgot, you think I'm mannish anyway. Liz Lemon, the enormous man-child woman."

"Prove me wrong. Stop drinking sorority girl drinks at a frat boy bar while wearing Chuck Taylors and perhaps my mind will be changed," Jack replied. Oh, he was taunting her. And okay, maybe TJ McGoodtime's was a frat bar, but it was cheap and the onion rings were good and just because he could afford to pay twenty bucks a scotch didn't mean Liz was going to waste her money that way.

"Just because I don't dress up all the time doesn't mean I don't look damn cute and girly when I want to," said Liz. "And I have seen you in worse places than TJ McGoodtime's."

Jack chuckled. "Yes, but you haven't seen me drunk dial and announce that I was there. Except for when I was divorcing Bianca, but those were unique circumstances."

The waiter -- of course -- got in Liz's face then. "Ma'am, do you want another one?" he asked, all spit-polished and world-weary. Also cute and clearly gay and so over the frat bar where he worked while he waited for his big break.

"No," said Liz. "I want the check. Hear that, Jack? I'm a grown adult and I know when to say when."

"Yes, because I'm sure the waiter thinks you're being very grown-up and not drinking alone because you got in a fight with me," Jack parried. "By the way, he thinks I'm your boyfriend."

Liz stiffened. Oh, that was...probably true. She grabbed the waiter's arm. "Do you think I'm talking to my boyfriend?" she asked.

The waiter, bless his obvious gay heart, shrugged. "Maybe? Is he your boyfriend?" he asked.

"No, it's my boss," Liz said. The waiter gaped. "What?"

"You drunk dialed _your boss?_ Girl, you are going to be so fired tomorrow," said the waiter with a dramatic shake of his head.

"No way, I'm not going to be fired," Liz said. "Am I fired, Jack?"

"No," said Jack. "I like you. You produce decent copy for network events and you're an acceptable fake date when I need an intelligent companion. Besides, nobody else at East Coast could manage Tracy Jordan without having a nervous breakdown. I know. I looked."

"That's right, they couldn't," Liz said, suddenly really proud of herself. She'd spent over a season wrangling Tracy Jordan and she hadn't lost her mind yet! That was kind of an accomplishment. "Anyone else dealing with Jenna and Tracy would be drunker than me and there would probably be embezzling involved."

"Do you still want me to get the check?" the waiter asked, reminding Liz that she'd accidentally dragged the waiter into her drunk dial with Jack.

"Yes, I do," said Liz. "Thank you."

The waiter went away and Liz went back to her conversation with Jack. "I think I really am hanging up on you now. Not that it hasn't been fun, being told that I'm a frat boy, but I'm going home to watch the Real Housewives now and hate myself for it."

"All right, Lemon," Jack said. "I'll see you and your hangover tomorrow."

Liz ended the call, and suddenly about five different things Jack had said practically smacked her in the face. First that she was an acceptable "fake date," and then that he wanted her to stop drunk-dialing people. Which Liz also wanted, because it was so dumb and led to drama. But Liz sometimes thought it was fun, and also it was easier to say things when she was drinking. Confessional time was always easier when sauced. Though she really shouldn't have called Jack.

The waiter was back. "Here's the check. Was that really your boss?" he said. "Because I didn't want to say so, but you do talk like he's your boyfriend, or maybe your about to be ex-boyfriend."

"He's really my boss," Liz said. "We have a weird relationship. Here's my card."

That was that. Moderate humiliation, moderate relief, and now Liz was going to go home and sleep off the super-humiliation of being stood up at a TJ McGoodtime's and then drunk-dialing a bunch of people, including her boss, to get over it.

Yes, sir. Liz knew when to say when.


	2. "Australian Cab Shiraz"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proper uses and abuses of alcohol and privilege in Manhattan. (Particularly Australian Cabernet-Shiraz.)

 

Jack did not make Liz's hangover feel better by calling her in for a meeting the second she came in. Oh no, he didn't.

"Am I getting fired? You said last night I wasn't fired because no one else can handle Tracy," Liz said, feeling exposed and defensive while Jack watched her from behind his desk. "Also, the waiter thought we were breaking up, so you were only half right."

"Lemon, I've failed you," Jack said, drumming his fingers on the desk. "In my quest to make a proper leader out of you, I've forgotten that the proper use and abuse of alcohol is vital. It's one of those factors that lead to the so-called 'glass ceiling.'"

Propriety and Jack Donaghy were two concepts that didn't go together in Liz's head. Not ever. So he needed to stop saying proper. Also, Jack knew about the glass ceiling, even if he clearly put it in scare quotes.

"So..." Liz said.

"We're going to go drinking. I assume your liver is in good health," Jack said. "Because I never want to hear a grown woman call herself an enormous man-child ever again. Particularly not you."

This was not something Liz ever wanted to do. Except she had to do it, because she had drunk-dialed Jack and when the gay waiter at TJ McGoodtime's thought you had crossed a line, you had clearly _crossed a line_ and really? Liz also thought calling herself an enormous man-child was icky and bad.

"You're not arguing," Jack said, his brow slightly furrowed. "I thought you'd inform me how hideously inappropriate it is that we become drinking buddies and that the glass ceiling is real."

"It is real, and also, when the gay waiter at a frat bar tells you you screwed up, you screwed up," Liz replied thoughtfully. "I don't fight with you just to fight."

"Of course you do. You think it demonstrates counter-cultural credibility," Jack replied.

Liz glared. "You pick fights with me!" she said, sticking a hand on her hip. "Did you want me to fight with you just then? Because that just shows you enjoy me questioning your authority."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I don't enjoy it. But it's crucial that you question rather than blindly accept, so that you can understand why I'm always right," he said.

"You're not always right!" Liz squawked. Yep, that was a squawk. Oh, flerg, she'd just taken the bait. "But I will go drinking with you because that is the right way to handle last night's gaffe. However, I don't want to dress up."

"Too bad," Jack said mercilessly.

"I'm not wearing the Laura Bush suit," Liz added.

"Then you'd better find something else you could wear to drink wine, hadn't you?" Jack said. "I'll see you at eight, Lemon."

Son of a...fat monkey. Liz walked back to her set, trying not to fire someone for being too perky. Cerie was making that _really hard_ , though.

"Does anyone know what you wear to a wine bar?" Liz asked. "I have to network with Donaghy and he's making me dress like a grown adult again."

Josh pointed and laughed. "Liz has to be a grown-up! Liz has to be a grown-up!" he chanted.

Liz smacked him in the back of the head. "Not here, dumbass," she said. "Anyone else, what to wear to drink wine and act classy?"

"Dude, ask Carolyn in Wardrobe or something," Frank said, looking up from his copy of Fangoria. "This is strictly a Natty Lite and shots of cheap booze crowd."

"And wine coolers," Cerie added. "Though I love Natty Lite!"

Liz pressed the side of her fist to the spot between her eyes where it hurt whenever Jack Donaghy was right. Why did the universe conspire to make Jack right so much?

At least Carolyn in Wardrobe knew what to wear, even if she then needed to give Liz crap about not knowing what to wear. "You're not Quasimodo," she said. "Where is your suit that you have just in case of clients? NBC pays you enough to hang a suit on your door that doesn't make you look like a cupcake."

"Donaghy's the first suit who makes me meet other people," Liz confessed. Carolyn rolled her eyes. "What?"

"Even though he's a freaktoaster, you should be glad he exists," Carolyn said. "And here, vest. And shoes."

So Liz was waiting for Jack on set at eight, dressed quote unquote like a grown adult.

"That's nicely done," said Jack, giving her a once-over. "Who dressed you?"

"Carolyn from Wardrobe," Liz replied. "Everyone pointed and laughed at me for not owning a suit, by the way."

"As well they should, Lemon," Jack said. "There are suits for women that don't make you look fifty. And you like menswear-looks, so why on earth wouldn't you own one?"

"Because I'm not Eliza Doolittle and you're not Henry Higgins," Liz said. "Not even the Shaw version."

Jack blinked a few times, his eyes confused. "You'd shoot yourself in the foot just to make sure that nobody thought you were conforming to conservative standards," he said. "My God, Lemon, sometimes your code of honor baffles me."

"Oh, just teach me how to drink wine like a grown-up already," Liz muttered.

Okay, so the waiters at the Le Snotty were much nicer to both Liz and Jack than waiters at TJ McGoodtime's. A waitress took Jack's coat and was really polite about everything, and Liz tried with all her might not to fidget when Jack pulled out her chair and gave her a look, like _will the feminist sit in the chivalrously extended chair?_

She gave him a look that hopefully said _screw you, old man_ and sat down.

"Tonight we're featuring a 2003 Australian cab shiraz from the Hunter Valley," the waitress said, apparently ignoring the subtext. "It pairs very well with filet or a barbecue chicken. It's a very brash, friendly wine."

"What do you think, Lemon?" Jack asked. Because he was evil and Liz hated him.

"That sounds great. Could we see a menu first?" Liz asked, kicking Jack's ankle under the table. "And I'd like a water."

"Bien sur," the waitress murmured, wandering away.

"Jack, I know nothing about wine," Liz said.

"Neither do I," replied Jack. "I'm Irish Catholic. If I drink for pleasure, I drink Jameson's or -- saints forgive me -- margaritas."

Liz's eyes rounded. "Margaritas?"

"Malibu and pineapple juice drinkers don't get to point and laugh about margaritas," Jack replied. "And it's still a level above...what was it, Natty Lite, shooters, and wine coolers?"

"Indeed," said Liz. "So why do old rich guys go to wine bars if they'd rather be drinking scotch or daiquiris?"

Jack paused. "It's a test of manliness, primarily," he said. "As well as how well you can fake dignity in a situation where you know bupkiss. Consider it the old rich guy version of when you tell me that Tracy is doing great when he's just called you from Midtown and announced he wants to give a woman named Bourbon Becky a role on next week's show."

"Seriously?" Liz asked, tilting her head. Well, that was comforting, and when the girl came back with the wine list, Liz immediately began scanning it. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of new to pairing reds with food. I'd like to start with the pear-gorgonzola thing, so what goes with that?"

"Oh, I'd put a white with that," the girl said. "If it were me, something spicy but sweet. I love Riesling with that, and we have a fantastic one from the Alsace, a 2005, a little bold, not too pricey because the cheese dulls the palate slightly."

"Yes," said Liz. "That. Jack, what do you want?"

Jack was smiling at her smugly. Well, what? Was she supposed to suck at faking like things were going well when she had no idea what the hell was happening? Liz Lemon could fake that until Kenneth had tracked Tracy down and done whatever illegal act was required to get meds into him.

"The cab shiraz for me, and the duck salad," he replied. The waitress agreed, smiling, and then melted away. "See? You're far better at being a grown adult than your wardrobe and prickly exterior wants to admit."

Liz snorted. "Okay, this is why this is a stupid test," she objected. "So ordering wine is like hiding panic from someone who is better off not knowing about the latest crisis. Why can't someone just say it? Why do I have to order an eleven dollar glass of wine to be a grown-up?"

"Because learning how to lie to your boss is far easier with wine than with, I don't know, Jenna's secret meth addiction," Jack said practically. "And you get to have good wine, which is really quite good even if you don't want to become an expert."

The waitress returned with two tiny glasses of white wine before Liz could come up with a retort. Because damn it. Jack won again.

"What's this?" Liz asked.

"It's a sauvignon blanc from Oregon, compliments of the house," the waitress said. "The chef really likes TGS, and I kind of recognized you, so I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," Jack said grandly. "Thank you."

Liz raised an eyebrow as the waitress shuffled away. "That was really cool," she said, raising her tiny glass. "Is it okay to say cheers in a wine bar, or is that insufficiently manly, boss?"

"And what are we toasting?" Jack asked.

"To nice waitresses and not being drunk at TJ McGoodtime's," Liz said, raising her glass. Jack clinked his against hers, and Liz discovered good wine was pretty darn good. "Even if TJ McGoodtime's has better lime margaritas, which I know because _you took me there first_."

Oh, yes. The last word was sweet.


	3. Jello Shots and Natty Lite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sweet elixir of the cheap gods, and Liz fielding questions about what her wardrobe means to her cast.

 

Liz might have actually gone out and bought herself a suit two days after the wine-drinking incident after spending ten minutes asking Carolyn what exactly a "good" suit meant. And what she could wear that would be attractive but that would vaguely piss Jack off.

In these calculations, Liz had forgotten the writers and the cast. Both groups seemed somewhat off-put by Liz's appearance.

"Did you drink the Kool-Aid?" Frank asked bluntly. "Dude, you look corporate as hell in that."

"Yeah, Liz, it's a little upper-middle-management for you," Toofer agreed.

Liz folded her arms and glared. "Sorry that I'm not wearing sweatpants," she muttered. "Gak. I'm going to hang it in my office so that I never have to wear that awful pink thing ever, ever again."

"Are we being canceled?" Jenna asked, stopping from her casual walk-by. "Why are you dressed like that? Oh my God, you have a development deal at ABC and you're leaving us all behind!"

"I bought a suit," Liz said, gaping at how everyone wanted to make her owning nice clothes a bad thing. "Does it look that bad?"

Jenna tilted her head. "Actually, it looks really good," she said. "Have you lost weight?"

Carolyn from Wardrobe was so getting recommended for a raise. Liz shook her head and smiled. "I keep having to go to more fancy meetings, so I thought, hey, screw the pink suit," she said. "We're not canceled. And I still hate corporate America. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go taunt Jack Donaghy for fifteen minutes and then I want to hear about where we're at with making the product placement in the Dancing Cats skit not suck. Also, I still think Captain Copyright blows and I actually know what intellectual property is."

As Liz went off for Jack's office, the last thing she heard was Jenna saying, "Liz, are those slingbacks?" like Liz had sprouted horns or something.

Jonathan seemed to feel Liz was also from a different universe, because he kept saying, "Are you leaving us for CBS?" and "If you sue him for sexual harassment, I will testify against you" until Liz wished she was wearing a t-shirt that said "I'm With Stupid" and cutoffs.

"Well, this is a proud moment for Jack Donaghy," Jack said. "Have you lost weight?"

Carolyn from Wardrobe was possibly getting Liz's firstborn. "The set thinks we're canceled. Can you come to the next after-show party to assure everyone we're not canceled?" she said.

"Of course," said Jack. "And you will learn how to drink Natty Light and gelatin shots without incident."

"I know how to drink jello shots with my own set, but thanks for trying, 'enry 'iggins," Liz said with a nasty smile.

"Famous last words," Jack replied with an equally nasty smile.

"Right back at you, Donaghy," Liz said.

Everyone was still buzzing that Liz had a new suit and that they were NOT canceled, so it was a weirdly tense after-party for TGS. Liz was dressed normally, and everyone kept looking at her like they expected her to pull out some Dolce and Gabbana any second.

It didn't help that Lutz was tending bar. Lutz had very few identifying characteristics except for the fact that he was from Alaska and compared to his sainted grandma, they were all lightweights. Lutz tended to make drinks accordingly.

Thus, Liz had had a grand total of two jello shots -- one with Tracy and Josh, and one with Jenna and Pete -- and half a Natty Light, because not even Liz could drink Natty Light in the name of populism and showing Jack Donaghy up.

Which was okay, because Jack had chugged three already, setting Liz's world askew.

"Those are vile," Liz said, tapping him on the shoulder.

"You're very sober, Lemon," Jack said, looking her over. "And you don't have your suit."

"It's a TGS after-party. You don't have your suit," Liz said. "Why would I?"

"It was hot on you," Jack said. "Show of hands. Who thought Lemon looked good in that suit?"

Every hand went up. Liz glared. "You said I looked like corporate sellout Barbie," she said to Frank.

"You did. Corporate sellout Liz is still pretty hot," Frank said with a shrug. "Cerie, back us up."

Cerie looked up from where she and Kenneth were eating candy. Kenneth was blushing, which meant...absolutely nothing when it came to Kenneth.

"Yeah, Liz, I like your new suit," she said.

"Yo, Liz Lemon, if I get the man to play Beyonce, you gonna favor us with the booty dance?" Tracy yelled. "You said you were gonna work it out after my man said you wouldn't!"

Liz, to her recollection, had never said any of that. "Sure," she said with a shrug. Cerie always danced to hip-hop, and that meant Jenna would dance, and that meant Liz could throw away her nasty beer and maybe have one more jello shot.

Of course, Jack would follow her to the makeshift bar as Jenna tried to slide down Josh and say, "where's your booty dance, Lemon?"

"I have no dance," Liz said. "Okay, so I thought this was my drinking lesson. What am I supposed to learn about situations where **I** know better than to get trashed, but **you** toss back the vile cat-piss that is Natty Lite?"

"Enjoy the rare advantage," Jack replied with a shrug. "And don't needle me about it for a month. Save it for when you need a big favor."

Liz fake-pouted. "But Ja-aack," she fake-whined. "Making fun of you for being a drunken jerk puts the wind in my sails."

"And nice sails they are, too," Jack said, definitely looking at her, um, assets.

"They're all right," Liz said, deciding that it wasn't worth a fifteen-minute conversation about being uncomfortable with Jack looking at her cleavage. "As compared to my booty dance, which is flat like my booty."

Jack smiled appreciatively. If the light harassment had been a test, Liz had apparently passed. "My god, this beer is almost worse than Donaghy Estates," he said lightly.

"Nothing is worse than Donaghy Estates," Liz replied with a smirk. "Hey, someone play some Madonna!"

The DJ -- who was some friend of Josh's that Liz was pretty sure had a serious crush on either Josh or Jenna -- touched his freakin' fedora and winked at Liz. Oh, ew. Hipster fake-flirting. Jack didn't seem impressed either.

"Why is he wearing a pink fedora?" he asked. "Especially with that soul patch."

"I think he's either trying to get Josh or Jenna. I can't tell which, because Jenna's clinging to Josh for some reason," Liz said, peering at the party's main action.

"Be fair, Lemon, he could be out for both," Jack said. Liz snickered. "I'm serious."

"I know," Liz said. "But that's why it's funny. Cuz...Jenna and Josh? At the same time? A world of not only no, but hell no."

And that was when the DJ started playing "True Blue," which took Liz back to junior year and standing next to Hannah Polanski at band practice while the flag girls practiced to the song. Also to the fact that Liz completely did the swaying shoulder dance to "True Blue," with the beat. And was lip-synching the words.

So what the hell? Liz bumped into Jack with her shoulder and grinned. "So do you dance at after-parties or not? I mean, I wouldn't, but it's True Blue," she said.

"Indeed," Jack said with a wicked gleam in his eye. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a Madonna fan."

"I'm sometimes surprising," Liz replied. They weren't so much dancing as half-swaying in a semi-synchronized way and looking at each other, but it felt personable. And social. Like they weren't hiding out together in a corner. Giving each other weird looks.

"Yes," Jack said. "So now seems like a good time to inquire as why were you alone at a TJ McGoodtime's."

"Truth?" Liz said, still swaying. "Some guy stood me up. So I figured being drunk and stupid was less pathetic than being the woman alone at the bar and not drinking. Are you going to tell me this is what happens when I go on dates with guys who take me to TJ McGoodtime's?"

"I would have, but you've figured it out yourself," Jack replied as Madonna turned into Gnarls Barkley. "Let's go sit down."

They staked out the squishy couches in the back corner, which were notoriously known as where people went to make out or pass out, and Jack lifted his now-empty Natty Lite to the crowd of TGS after-partiers.

"These are glorious in their way. They're always the same. Someone is dancing badly, someone is drinking cheap beer, and there's always a moment when Tracy declares there needs to be an after-after-party," Jack said, sinking back into the cushions.

"You're going to the after-after-party?" Liz asked.

"Good God, no," Jack said just as Tracy bellowed, "All aboard for the after-after-party!"

The usual suspects cheered, but Liz was too busy watching Jenna, Josh, and the DJ. She elbowed Jack in the ribs.

"Look. Look," she said. "Oh, he's going for it."

"Brave man," Jack said, as the DJ gave Jenna a look. "Do you think your cast members will play along?"

Liz sighed and chuckled ruefully. "Yes, yes I do," she said. "This is going to be awful. You realize they won't be able to get near each other for a month, right?"

"I do," Jack said. "Do you realize what else it means?"

His mouth was really very close to Liz's. And Liz's hand was on Jack's arm. Liz was also way not drunk, so she couldn't blame booze, either.

"Nobody is looking over here," Liz said. "Not even Lutz."

"AFTER AFTER PARTY! AFTER AFTER PARTY!" people were chanting. Which was good; Liz hoped they got the hell out of the area immediately and that Jenna and Josh and their freaky DJ friend found paradise by the dashboard light.

Liz found herself licking her lips really compulsively. Oh, man, did she have to be that person? It wasn't like Jack was super-hot there, but. He was really close. And nobody was going to look over and care that Jack and Liz were maybe a little too close when Jenna and Josh and the DJ were about to hook it up for a three-way.

"So," Jack said.

"So," Liz said. "I think I should do this now."

She leaned over and barely, barely touched her mouth against his. Okay, no laughing yet, so a little more pressure seemed called for. Jack was helpful enough to put his hand on the back of Liz's neck so she didn't lose her balance. It was a very, very nice kiss. Not all steamy or nasty, just...she kissed him and he kissed back and it was kind of slow and lazy and instead of immediately jumping on him, Liz rested her head on Jack's shoulder when she finished.

"You took initiative," Jack said. "Good job."

"I can totally take charge of situations without your tutelage, smart guy," Liz said back, but the usual bite wasn't in it.

"I know, and I approve of that," Jack agreed. "But you have a tendency to hold back when the iron is hot that you can't have completely missed."

Liz was about to snap something about how hot irons had a tendency to burn people like her and then provide delicious fluffy waffles for the Jack Donaghys of the world, but she couldn't make herself want to put the words together in a funny way, and showing off her funny was half the reason to snark at Jack.

"I can't believe you drank three of them," Liz said, looking at the beer cans. "I mean, in Germany, they don't even legally qualify as beer."

"Really?" Jack asked. "I wasn't aware that the Germans were so chauvinistic that they disqualified American brews."

"Yep," Liz said. "It's the Reinheitsgebot."

"It's anti-American," Jack said.

"You would say that about the world's oldest food quality law," Liz said with a shrug. Oh, blerg, was she fighting with Jack over beer because bickering was the way she could like him without like, liking him?

"Food snobbery does not become you, Lemon," Jack replied. But he was like, stroking her hand while he said it, so maybe it did become her. Maybe the bickering turned him on.

Maybe she should kiss him again before she blurted out her thoughts and keep assuming that tomorrow, this would all be not a problem.


End file.
